Clock Strikes Twice
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Peter didn't believe in soulmates. He certainly didn't believe that a masked mercenary was his, least of all when Wade's timer had stopped and Peter's still ticked. Still, some of the greatest things in life defied explanation. (Complete)
1. Chapter 1

Clock Strikes Twice

"You _know_ it's just a coincidence, right?"

Peter looked down at MJ's wrist. There was no denying that she had 'the mark'; it was a small red dot, almost like a star when looked at closely, and it sat in between two brown lines that rested at 'nine o'clock'. They looked almost like old scars, maybe combined with a fresh burn, but they were something more than that, something that no one could properly – by that he meant _scientifically_ – explain. It captured his attention, although he felt a pang of embarrassment at any kind of curiosity regarding it, and eventually let go.

He dropped his hands onto his lap, while MJ spun around on the kitchen chair. May rushed over, finally glad for a turn to see the young woman's wrist, as she held onto her hand gently and looked down at the marks. They both began to laugh, which was a sound that Peter always appreciated, as it was one that warmed his heart and always made him feel 'at home', and there was a small – almost non-existent really – spark of resentment that he might now have to share that laugh with someone else. May sat down at the table with them, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. He breathed in deep.

"Seriously, they say the Terrigen Mist –"

"Oh, you're such a party pooper!" MJ held her wrist to her heart. "That mist thing only affects those Inhuman guys, right? If this were related, I'm _pretty_ sure it wouldn't be affected everyone in the entirety of New York. Plus, you know what people are saying!"

MJ looked truly beautiful when she was happy. He always liked how red her hair looked, how it always seemed perfectly styled and suited her so well, and – at one point – he even had a slight crush on her, but they were always better off as friends. It meant that he _should_ have been happy for her; she blushed brightly, while every now and again she would fiddle with the hem of her shirt, and even how she sat screamed 'happy person'.

He noticed how she constantly touched her face or hair or clothing, as if she couldn't quite sit still, and she would curl in on herself like someone content or cosy, nothing like her usual self that always strove to seem composed and in control. May pushed a cup of coffee over to her; she used it to warm her hands and angle her arms so that her wrists were on show, and May simply gave a chuckle behind her hand. The older woman gave Peter a stern look, as if he should somehow be more supportive, but the whole thing seemed . . . ridiculous.

It was a nice day outside. Peter could hear kids playing in the sprinklers a few yards down, while a few groups of teenagers joked around on the street outside, and he kind of missed that his uncle wasn't around to enjoy the end of summer with them. He wondered whether Ben would have brought into any of this, especially when he believed in responsibility, and this was hardly responsible. Peter gave a loud sigh, until May kicked him from under the table.

"Ouch, that really –"

"Tell us all about it, honey," said May.

"Well, we were at school this morning," continued MJ. "I hadn't seen Sam since the mist swept over the city, so I didn't even _think_ that it would be him, because – well – I guess I assumed the red mark would have already been there, but then it happened -! I saw him in the hallway and my wrist just suddenly hurt, then I looked up and saw him make the same pained expression, and we realised it had been the other all along. I'm so happy!"

"I know how you feel. Every day I look down and see that the clock has stopped and the red centre is there -? It just reminds me that I made the right choice in marrying my Ben, and I feel that love for him as strong as the day that I met him. Trust me; cherish every day that you and Sam have together. You will never know a greater love."

"Aw, come on!" Peter rolled his eyes. "Mist hits, people get mysterious _clocks_ on their hands, and everyone's first thought is 'a countdown until true love'? Doesn't that just seem _wrong_ to you? What if this is something sinister or dangerous? It just doesn't sit right."

"Coulson told me Tony Stark looked into this himself," said May.

"Yeah, like _he's_ never screwed up before."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. The wooden back dug into his shoulder blades, as he fidgeted and tried to get comfortable, and he forced his hands deep into the pockets of his hooded top. He didn't need to look at the 'clock' to know that it was still moving; it would only show the current time, not stopped like May or MJ's, and there was no red dot in the centre either, but he was grateful for that fact. There was something nerve-wracking about the fact it could stop at any moment, frozen into one time until he died.

"I'm just saying there's a lot of problems with this."

"Why don't you name one?" MJ asked. "I think it's a wonderful thing."

"Well, what if your 'soul-mate' dies, like with Uncle Ben?" Peter cricked his neck and gave a pout. "Should you just stay miserable forever, because no one can live up to the person you lost? What happens if you fall madly in love with someone, but their clock doesn't stop? What if _neither_ of you have your clocks stopped? What if they're abusive? What if -?"

"I know you don't believe in this stuff, Peter, but I doubt your soul-mate would be someone that supposed to _hurt_ you, and no one said it's a sin to move on or to choose to be with someone that isn't your soul-mate. I mean, who said soul-mates even have to be romantic?"

"I guess, but I just think people are setting themselves up for heartbreak. Relationships take work, like a _lot_ of work; if people assume it'll be easy, just because they have a 'soul-mate', it could mean the end of that friendship or relationship entirely. What then? I bet they'll suddenly say that it wasn't their soul-mate after all, that something must have gone wrong, rather than that they never communicated or took real life problems for granted."

The look that MJ and May shared was one that irked him.

They were always a close pair, especially since May treated Sam like a second nephew, and – because of that – it was just one more thing for them to bond over. There was no denying that they were both romantic at heart, both prone to flights of fantasy and boundless optimism, and sometimes Peter envied them for that, but he hated the times where they treated him like a child that just didn't know better. It wasn't as if he didn't know what love could be, but he wasn't all too sure that _MJ_ knew what love could be either.

He felt cold suddenly, despite how summer was barely drawing to a close, and pulled his hooded top around him. The suit under his clothing began to cling to his skin, not to mention it was starting to smell a little ripe, but luckily no one seemed to notice and the gloves were hidden away with his hood, both tucked into the bag by his feet. It would probably be best to patrol later. He could trust his team to keep the city safe, but something niggled at him and irked him, as if something inside were telling him to go out and protect the people. He only prayed that there were no more mists, because the past few months were bad enough.

"W-what happens . . . if your clock's stopped?"

Peter caught the look that his aunt wore and felt a blush. He could guess well enough what she assumed, but he never meant to make any such implication. It took a moment to free his arm from his pockets, before he showed his the inside of his wrist; the clock ticked on, almost like the world's most accurate watch, and the red dot was nowhere to be seen. May looked a little disappointed, but MJ simply looked hopeful. It was as if she felt grateful that she hadn't missed the most important meeting of her best friend's life.

"I just wonder, because _if_ this were true . . . well . . . what about the few people whose clocks appeared when the mist hit, but their clocks were already stopped? I bet a few people may have met a soul mate in passing, maybe not even realised they were there, and not all of them will get a chance to meet them again, will they? Imagine _knowing_ you missed your shot. Could you be happy knowing that? I think I'd always wonder about them."

"You think that's bad? What about the couples whose stopped clocks didn't match?" MJ let out a loud laugh. "Apparently, Gwen was on her way to Harry's, she actually saw a couple break up over the fact that they didn't have the same times! Insane, huh?"

"T-that's what I mean -! This clock thing is a load of nonsense."

"Nonsense or not, I'm glad I have Sam."

Peter couldn't help but give a smile, although he hated himself for it. He felt like he was reinforcing some childish belief, but she looked so happy and so complete, as if everything had come together and finally made sense. The sight of his best friend so happy made his heart melt just a little, until he pulled at the collar of his shirt and looked away. There was something appealing about being that happy, but it felt like such a huge risk and there was no one left in his life single since the 'soul-mate' sensation happened.

"Well, I'm just glad to be alone," he said.

There was another look from MJ, while May let out a low laugh and went to fetch some more coffee, and Peter was left feeling that – once again – he wasn't being taken seriously. He ran a hand over his face and made to stand up, as he glared at them both.

"I'm going out on patrol," he muttered. "Don't wait up."

"Tell us if the clock stops, okay?" May added.

"Yeah, funny. Very funny."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was a thrill unlike any other.

There was nothing better that swinging through the air, feeling that constant risk and danger, and knowing that his life depended entirely upon the web he constructed. It was an adrenaline rush; there was pride at knowing he could achieve so much, that he could finally succeed at something despite what his classmates teased, and to see the city below him small and almost insignificant. He felt a part of something bigger. The day-to-day problems no longer mattered, because nothing else mattered when you were free to swing through the city.

No one knew his identity; he had no one to answer to except himself, plus no one could judge him except for maybe his team, and the cold wind felt good against his skin. The sunlight reflected from his visors as he moved, occasionally blinding him and adding to the rush, and he wondered how long it would be until night. The cars beneath were loud tonight, probably a traffic jam or some sort of accident, but it only added to the atmosphere of the city.

It wasn't long before he caught sight of his target.

There – down in the alleys – was a young man, one that was reported to have stolen from a convenience store a few blocks down, and he was currently paused for breath. He looked maybe in his twenties, although it was hard to tell from so high up, and he was crouched down over a tatty old backpack. The police had lost track of him, at least according to the scanners he eavesdropped upon, and so there was only one person that could catch him and return the cash. Peter smiled beneath his mask, as he caught the nearest building.

"Got you," he whispered.

He clung to the ledge with the tips of his fingers, as he pried himself up and crawled to the other side. It was difficult to see the guy from this angle; he stood directly underneath the fire escape, which was probably some ten floors down, and it would probably take one final swing to land on the landing just above the guy. Peter carefully adjusted his sleeve and web-shooter to check the 'time' on his wrist, but there was plenty of time until curfew. He smiled briefly one more time, as he used his web-shooters to drop down, before he jumped onto the landing and turned to lean over the side. The guy below looked up in horror.

Peter leaned one arm on the railing, as he cocked his head with a wide smirk. He could see the criminal below visibly shaking, enough that he looked pretty darned scared, and it just went to show that crime really didn't pay, at least when superheroes were about. It took only one flick of the wrist to grab the backpack and pull it up, where he dropped it next to his feet with a heavy thud, and then gave a mock salute to the man below. He was almost ready to web him up, until something happened: spider-sense.

"D-D-Deadpool," the guy stuttered.

"Er, no?" Peter felt his fists clench. "I'm Spider-Man. You can tell the difference; I don't smell like Mexican food and day-old farts, plus I like to think I'm by far more attractive of the two, you can't tell because of the mask, but –"

The man ran away with a loud scream.

"Okay, that's never happened before. Weird."

' _Yeah, and it's never going to happen again,'_ said a voice.

Peter felt his stomach sink down into his feet. He turned with heavy heart and dry mouth, as he felt his pulse vibrate throughout his body, and saw – hidden in the shadowy corner of the landing, crouched down like a professional sniper – an all too familiar sight: Deadpool.

He was dressed in one of his usual uniforms, only this one had the nails painted black and reminded Peter of one of the older looks, and his hands were busy assembling some sort of gun that looked like it had more range than Deadpool's sexual preferences. It was an intimidating piece. The metal was polished to within an inch of its life, clearly treated with love and respect, and the nuzzle was quickly aimed at the escaping guy, so that – before the man would even turn the corner – he could probably have a bullet in his back.

It was enough for Peter to act.

He quickly jumped from the landing, catching the piece in his webbing, and – as he spun in the air – he braced himself on the opposing wall, with both feet and free hand. The gun was heavy, enough that the recoil would probably have packed a punch. Sadly, the noise and distraction was enough to take both costumed men's attention away from the criminal, who used the situation to his advantage and ran into the crowd. He was now one of the thousands of nameless faces in the street, and it would take nothing short of a miracle to find him.

"You – you made me lose the guy!"

Peter felt his face flush red in fury. He automatically tried to take the gun apart, but it wasn't clear where the parts went and joined, plus he rarely ever had call to _hold_ a gun, let alone know how to _dismantle_ a gun. He was loath to admit that there must have been some skill in assembling it, probably skill in using it, but he couldn't believe that Deadpool was still the money-orientated mercenary that he used to be, especially when he seemed to be growing at a certain point. What happened to wanting to be a hero? What happened to wanting to help people, instead of hurting them? What happened to -?

"Okay, how the frig do I break this thing?"

"Give it here," chirped Deadpool. "I'll show you!"

"If you think I'm going to fall for that -!" Peter groaned in frustration, as he settled for simply bending the piece in half. "You want it that bad? Here, take it! Let's see you hurt someone with that thing _now_. Seriously, I can't believe you, Wade!"

Peter threw the destroyed gun straight at Deadpool. It was aimed directly at his head, but the older man's reflexes were pretty on point and he caught the gun in just one hand. He stood up slowly and surely; his suit made some audible noises, as his muscles bulged and stretched the leather to its absolute limit, and the sudden quiet from him was quite unnerving. It was then that Deadpool let out a chuckle and aimed the gun back at Peter, where he barely was able to dodge it by a mere inch. The brick chipped where it struck.

"Dude, you're such a hypocrite!"

"How am _I_ a hypocrite?" Peter yelled, as the gun fell to the ground.

"You said to let you see it hurt someone!" Deadpool climbed up onto the railing. "Well, you _totally_ just dodged that throw, so how could I show you? I can't believe you broke my gun, either! The only guns better than that one are _these_ babies." He flexed his muscles in a clear show of power. "You know what else? They ain't just for show either, Spidey!"

"Are you threatening me? That's rich coming from a walking scab! I've picked things from my ear way more scary than you! You – you were just about to _kill_ some guy, but you're giving me the attitude? Just wait until you're hanging upside-down in just your mask."

"Kinky, I didn't know you swung that way. Get it? _Swung_." Deadpool blew a raspberry. "Yeah, I know, it was hardly my best pun ever, but like I'm going to waste my best material on _you_. You're like my hero or something, Webs! Do you know how heartbreaking it is that you think I'd go back to killing people? I've been trying to be like you since before you were even born! Like, _that's_ how much I admire you! I was only going to shoot his kneecaps."

"Oh, right, because that's humane. No one really needs their kneecaps."

"Great, glad we can see things the same way."

Peter let out a loud scream.

He hadn't seen the blow coming, but Deadpool had kicked his shin hard. It was enough to _nearly_ break it; he collapsed down onto the ground petty fast, as he hissed in pain and felt moisture in his mask, from where he either spat up or threw up. He swallowed down the liquid in his mouth. The blue on his knee was now a sickly black colour, and he knew that the skin was torn open. It would heal, no doubt about that, but he would probably be limping for a good few days, which would be a pain to explain in itself.

"W-what was that for?" Peter asked.

Deadpool shrugged. He jumped down and landed in front of Peter, where he placed both hands on his hips and stood with legs apart. It was a pretty intimidating stance, especially when they hadn't seen each other since the Terrigen Mist, and he had no idea how time had actually changed Deadpool. The mutual respect and tentative friendship was gone with several years of absence, a lot of rumours and facts, and now this sudden shooting.

"I don't like being accused of shit I didn't do," snapped Deadpool.

"So what was the gun for? Shared memories of a sunset bathed in bloodshed?"

"Kneecaps, Spidey! Kneecaps! I just wanted to _stop_ him!" Deadpool gave a loud groan. "I was going to hand him over to the cops; I know you don't like me, even when we worked together, I was just like a convenient acquaintance, but I just thought if I started _doing_ good, rather than _talking_ about being good, maybe you'd – like, I don't know – started seeing me as more of a worm in your dessert and more like a person, you know?"

"Now that's what I call a run-on sentence, but you know what's not going to run-on? Your legs." Peter crouched down on his good leg, before he punched Deadpool's kneecap. "An eye for an eye, a leg for a leg. Plus, whoever said I didn't see you as a person?"

Deadpool fell down onto his butt. He let out a low hiss of breath, before he rubbed at his knee and sent a deathly glare over to Peter. The injury wasn't exactly severe; it was probably just a little more than a bruise and a sprain, but it would have hurt him enough to temporarily incapacitate him and at least make Peter feel a bit better about the situation. There was something _really_ horrible about being stuck in an alley with Deadpool, especially when the whole place reeked of urine and stale food. Eventually, Deadpool muttered:

"Healing factor, bro."

"Yeah, well, heal this, Deadpool!"

The punch came out of nowhere, but Deadpool's reflexes were amazing. He managed to raise his fist at the exact same moment as Peter; they both aimed at each other's faces, although both moved so quickly that they were unable to dodge, and they managed to make contact at the exact same moment. Peter felt his cheek bruise right as he felt his knuckles crack, and – in a rather embarrassing move – both men felt back onto the wet ground.

Peter groaned. He lifted his mask just high enough to touch his cheek and check for blood, grateful that nothing was broken, while Wade lifted his mask to spit out a tooth and a clump of what Peter _hoped_ was just blood. They were pretty evenly matched, although Peter was stronger of the two and Deadpool the better with his fists, and so he made a mental note _not_ to lash out again in future. The last thing they needed was to both collapse broken and bloody over a fight that couldn't be won. He sighed and pulled himself into a kneeling position.

"Okay, that hurt," muttered Peter.

"You were my hero," whispered Deadpool. "I even had the Spider-Man underoos and everything! Even when I was at my worst, I'd look on TV and see you doing good, and it made me think that maybe _I_ could be good, too. I just didn't know how. Then you took me out of jail, then you were all bro-punching my fist, and then you started being all nice to me, so I thought that if _you_ could see something good in me, maybe I could, too.

"So, yeah, _you_ think that hurt? Try having your ex-wife cheat on you, but – best of all – you can totally see why, because she wants you to be this monster, but you just want to be a hero, only you _can't_ be a hero, so the heroes hate you, too. You're like . . . hated by everyone. Hell, I even hate myself, so what fucking chance do I stand with the world? It's not like I wear this mask for fun. I even wore it in the shower at one point, but it's cool . . . Preston and Ellie and Al taught me that it's all good. Only, hey, _now_ I hear from my hero that I'm just a 'scab'."

Peter winced in absolute shame. He lowered his mask to hide the tremble to his lips, as he felt something course through him that he hadn't felt since Ben's death. The air was cold and bitter, enough that he almost felt that he could taste it, and he realised that he had failed his oath to be responsible to and protect the city. Protecting the city meant protecting everyone within it, which included Deadpool, only he instead added to the man's suffering.

"You think I betrayed you?"

"Nah, betrayal implies expectation," said Deadpool. "I never expected you to trust me or even like me, but – for a while – it was nice to believe that maybe you could. I know I screw up a _lot_ , which is probably all you see in the news, but . . . I really do want to be like you."

"Look, I'm – I'm sorry, okay," muttered Peter. "I insult your looks way too much, don't I? I don't know, Wade, you just -! Do you know _why_ you disgust me so much? It's not because of how you look or what you do, I mean I've _always_ made a point of trying to help people, even people that have turned to crime or hurt people. No one – _no one, Wade_ – is beyond redemption, not even you. It's just you have so much potential and -!"

He threw up his hands in frustration. There was so much to say, but the aftermath of a fight in a dingy alley was no place to say it, at least not when he truly needed Wade to _listen_ what he had to say, as opposed to dismissing it or only hearing what he wanted. The cars in the street beyond began to speed up, while the sun began to set over the city, and soon he half-expected to get a phone call from his aunt to ask whether he would be back in time for dinner. He shook his head and pulled himself to his feet, placing his weight on his good leg. There was still a stab of pain, enough that he wasn't sure he would be able to make excuses for it.

They remained in silence for a while, until Wade stood up in turn and slouched, much in the way a lot of taller people tended towards when talking to those shorter than them, as if – by somehow leaning over – they could look them in the eyes as an equal. There were sirens in the distance, along with some loud shouting and what _may_ have been a gunshot, although it also may have just as easily have been a car backfiring, and Peter bit his lip to fight the urge to run and get involved. He couldn't leave Wade, not when Wade needed him.

"Time and time again, you just throw away your chances," said Peter.

"Self-sabotaging?" Wade shrugged. "I know, I'm pretty good at screwing myself over, and _not_ in the good way . . . although, I _am_ good at screwing myself in the good way. You just need some good lubrication and a stack of pretty decent –"

"Look, I didn't realise I was hurting you. I've always been harsh on you, because it just frustrates me when people don't try to help themselves. I guess I just hold you to my standards; whenever I've screwed up, I've changed and vowed never to screw up again. I don't know why that's so hard for you, but clearly it is, so I –"

The spider-sense kicked in.

He heard the sound of tires screeching, followed by several high-pitched screams, and – as he turned to look down the end of the alley – he saw a car pull to a sudden halt. The tinted windows rolled down. He saw the guy from earlier lean out with a gun in hand, as he wailed something like 'I win', before his spider-sense went crazy and the world seemed to go in slow motion. There was a terror in his heart unlike any other, made worse as he wondered whether this was how his uncle felt, and then – as the blood drained from his face – he felt arms around him. He was dragged to the ground, while gunshots rang out.

Deadpool rolled them over. The older man covered him like a blanket, until Peter could practically taste the blood over his mouth – face still partially unmasked – and smell the weeping wounds on his skin. There was something almost nice about being enveloped in hard muscles, although there wasn't much time to appreciate it in the heat of the moment, and soon he felt something hot and wet over his shoulder and upper arm, some even on his neck.

There was a scent of iron in the air, while the sound of the car belting away echoed loudly in the air; the driver and goons inside laughed loudly from the distance. Peter was still distracted and disorientated, shocked from having nearly been shot and confused at enjoying the body of a man against him, and it was then that Wade let out a cry of pain. The older man rolled onto his back, as he clutched at his wrist, but his wrist -? It was fine. He was clearly severely injured on his shoulder, though, which was shot several times through.

"You – you're bleeding," gasped Peter.

"Yeah, don't worry about it." Deadpool waved a hand and groaned. "You know, it's not my shoulder that's hurting. It's my wrist. Er, this'll sound strange, but can you take a look and see what's up with it? It feels all tingly and wrong."

Peter struggled to sit up, before he reached out to take Wade's hand. He blushed to feel how thick and callused those fingers were, once he removed the glove, and noted that the scarring looked particularly bad today, so that he hoped he wasn't hurting too much. The sleeve slid down with some difficulty, but – when he pushed it away – he saw that there was a red dot in the centre of the 'clock' that looked bright and raw, almost like a fresh burn. It looked _exactly_ like MJ's did, right before it began to calm down. The clock had also stopped.

He felt a strange feeling wash over him. Peter drew in a panicked breath and felt a cold wave over his skin, like someone had doused him, and he dropped Deadpool's hand and quickly began tugging at his own sleeve. The web-shooter broke in his panic, falling onto the ground in several pieces, before he managed to open his sleeve with a tear of fabric, and – as he glanced down at his skin – he saw his clock was at the _exact_ same time, sans the spot.

"Your clock stopped," he whispered.

"Really? So – so we're soul-mates?" Deadpool sat up.

The 'minute hand' moved forward on Peter's clock, which sent a shiver of relief down his spine, as he stood up and braced himself against the wall. It was strange, but he also felt something like sadness, too, as he wondered whether he would _ever_ find his soul mate and also whether he even wanted to find them. Deadpool was such a hapless romantic, though, enough that he would probably be devastated that his 'soul mate' was probably a random passer-by outside the alley or one of the guys in the car. Peter frowned.

"No, not us, my clock just moved again."

"Huh? So, who's my soul-mate?" Deadpool frowned. "I hope it's not Gun Guy. Hell, knowing my luck, it's probably the rat crawling over my leg. If I kick it, will that be like spousal abuse? Only _I_ could get a broken clock, especially when it's tattooed on my wrist."

"I – I don't know," said Peter sadly. "Is it weird that I'm almost disappointed? I never even thought I wanted a soul mate, but everyone else seems to have one and it gets so lonely at times, you know? It's my last year of school, but you'd think being eighteen would come with privileges. Surprise! It doesn't. Still get bullied, still get told off at home for coming back with bruises, still get to see people I love die more often that I'd like . . ."

Deadpool crawled up into a standing position. He made to slap Peter on his back, before he saw that the blood trickled down onto his hand and paused with it midair. Peter took sympathy on him and shook his hand, regardless of the blood and mess, as he made a point of trying to make it clear that he wasn't disgusted by the other man and saw the potential in him to be an equal. It was easy to hate Deadpool at times, but hard to always hate him. He just had a way of letting his humanity slip out in moments of weakness.

"Hey, you'll find someone," said Deadpool.

"Will I?" Peter sighed. "Anyway, what about you?"

"I don't need to find someone! I have you! You're my soul mate, Spidey! See, the clock stopped _right_ as the bullet hit! I think it was then that I realised it, maybe; I've always admired you, wouldn't have said no to those webs playing soccer with my peanut-brittle, either, but when I got shot for you -? I realised I don't want to be without you!"

"You haven't even seen my face! You don't know who I am; I could be a total tool or d-bag for all you know, plus I've never exactly been nice to you. We are _not_ soul mates. See, my clock is still ticking, no red dot either. Whoever yours is -? They're long gone."

"Sure thing, honey-pop! Whatever you say, sweetums!"

"Okay, that's it, I'm out of here."

Peter sighed and aimed a web up at the fire escape, before he realised that he was one shooter down in his panic. He made a mental note to find his way to the nearest hidden stash of civilian gear; it would be better to hail down a cab, rather than to try and swing back home at that time of night. The pain in his leg was pretty severe, but his healing factor should kick in during the night, or – well – he _hoped_ it would, as school would be hell tomorrow.

"Can you get back home okay?"

"What's home without my true love?" Deadpool asked.

Peter growled; he fought the urge to punch Wade, instead he swung up high and grabbed the bag of cash on the way, with the mental note to hand it into the police. He refused to look back, as he headed on his way back home, although he remembered to call out:

"You'll be fine! Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Soul Mate!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Yo, Petey!"

Peter froze where he stood. The voice was so bubbly and excitable, like it came from a long-lost friend or a small child, and it echoed so loudly in the hallway that it actually hurt his ears. He couldn't bring himself to turn around; he could tell by the reactions of everyone around him who it was, even if he hadn't recognised the voice, and their reactions were enough to make him hang his head in shame and feel a spark of sympathy for Wade. They stared at him and whispered about him. He prayed that Wade didn't notice, but it was hard to miss.

There wasn't a lot of time in battle to notice those kinds of things, although Peter heard about it first-hand on several occasions, but now – in the middle of the school – he realised just how much Wade's looks affected him. A girl on the staircase put her lunch away, with a curled lip and wince of disgust, while the laughter of a group of guys by the toilets sounded far too sadistic, and even Gwen next to him struggled to hide her surprise.

He loved Gwen dearly, but she was never very good at hiding her emotions. The Oscorp badge on her jacket reflected in the light, as she struggled to sort her belongings quickly, and he leaned against the locker next to her with a sigh. Peter ran his hands over his face and tried to hide the blush to his cheeks; Gwen merely gave a pretty smile, one of those that always made him feel so much better about himself, before she shook her head and quickly locked away her books for the day. She wore her blonde hair up, while she balanced her satchel in one hand and her handbag in the other. The internship must have kept her busy.

"Friend of yours?" Gwen asked.

Peter looked to see Wade bounce down the corridor. The older man looked around thirty at most, at least out of costume, and wore a bright smile across his lips. He was definitely out of place surrounded by fifteen to eighteen year olds, but he also looked almost fashionable in his ripped jeans and hooded top, especially when it actually looked _purposely_ ripped rather than full of what were probably accidental tears. The cap under his hood hid his face pretty well, but the scars and scabs were still pretty clear, and one or two were weeping.

"Er, n-no, we've – we've never met," muttered Peter.

"Uh-huh? So how does he know your name?" Gwen teased, as she elbowed him. "Oh, is this a Spider-Man thing? Oh my God, it _so_ is, isn't it? Well, don't worry, I won't give away your big secret, just – if he's some sort of villain – avoid destroying the science lab this time, all right? I'm working on an extra-credit assignment and kind of _need_ the lab intact."

"Oh, come on! That was _one_ time!" He blushed as Gwen laughed. "Look, just don't leave me, please? Sam is a total fan-boy of Deadpool's, so I can't ask the team to stick around, and MJ doesn't know about the whole Spidey thing, so . . . please? I'll so owe you!"

"You already owe me for getting you that extension on your homework. No wonder you're just second best; it's just frustrating, because you could easily be valedictorian with the work in place, but you throw it away to go chasing bad guys. Well, apart from when the bad guys come chasing you, by the looks of it. Seriously? Deadpool? Isn't he that insane mercenary that gets on the news every few weeks? Do I need to get help from someone?"

Peter shook his head. He couldn't do much else, as Wade had already caught up to them by the lockers and was bounced on the heels of his feet, and Peter – as much as he wanted the ground to swallow him whole – couldn't help but feel for the guy. The wounds and sores looked painful, especially when every smile made them crack and break, and Peter fought back an urge to reach out and tend to them. He clasped his hands in front of him and began to fidget. It was his first time _really_ looking at them; he couldn't imagine living with that pain.

"Peter Parker, right?" Wade asked.

There was an edge of uncertainty to his voice, as if he actually felt something close to insecurity and embarrassment, and Peter almost detected a blush to Wade's cheeks in turn. The older man barely looked like the same person; he was still just as muscular and well built, just as he was still expressive and bursting with energy, but he was also bent over almost in two and avoiding direct eye contact. He was also dressed to hide from sight.

"Y-yeah," said Peter. "I'm – I'm him. Why'd you ask?"

"Awesome! I saw your name in all the papers! You're Spider-Man's pal, right?"

"And with that, I'm leaving," said Gwen. "I'm sorry to have to be so rude, but I have only forty minutes to get to work and be ready for the evening shift. Plus, I never understood this fascination with superheroes. Right, I'll see you tomorrow, Peter?"

"Er, y-yeah," he replied. "I'll see you later. Take care, okay?"

"When have I ever been anything other than careful?"

Gwen gave them a wink, before she hugged Peter and touched Wade on his arm. It was just a brief touch, enough to let him know that she acknowledged him and was sorry to leave, but just short enough to make it clear that she wasn't being too overly familiar. There was a brief moment of panic, as he saw her run along the corridor, as the last thing he wanted was to be left alone with Wade, but apparently nothing fazed Gwen any longer. The again, if she listened to anything Sam said then she probably thought him to be a hero.

He gave a sigh and tilted back his head. It banged hard against the locker, which caused him to blush even harder and squint his eyes closed in embarrassment. There couldn't have been a worse time to be a klutz; he eventually came back to his surroundings and loosened his skateboard from his backpack, which he dropped to his feet and prepared to use to get away, while he fought every instinct in his body and lingered beside Wade.

"So – er – you're after Spider-Man?"

"Totally!" Wade perked up and stepped even closer. "He's my hero! He's also my soul mate! We were staking out this perp just the other day, only – _bam_ – our clocks go all haywire and suddenly mine stops! So we work out we're both soul mates, only he leaves before we can think to swap numbers or something. I figured you'd be able to pass on a letter and some presents for me. Tell him, I'm totally waiting for our first real date!"

"W-wait . . . are you – are you telling people you're _soul mates_?" Peter felt his cheeks heat up and his heart race. "You – you can't tell people that! I – I talk to Spider-Man; I know that it's not true . . . his clock didn't stop. He'd be annoyed, if you were spreading around that you two were some sort of couple and you really weren't. He – er – wouldn't like it."

"Spidey talks about me? Really? See, I knew it! He can't get me off his mind! Look, I bought some books on tarantulas, then this DVD about tarantella dancing, but who knew spiders have their own dance? I got him some tools to fix his shooters, too! Oh, then the letter –"

"I – I don't think he's actually interested in spiders, but . . . thanks?"

"He's Spider-Man, though! Of course he likes them!"

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes. It would have been easy, especially when confronted with a bag that was apparently stashed underneath Wade's baggy top, as it was a plastic carrier bag with many tears and smears of dirt, and – in all honesty – it smelled rather bad. The contents were barely much better; Peter had all the tools he needed, and he certainly had no interest in arachnids or dancing, but Wade obviously put in a lot of thought and care into his choice of gifts. He would be devastated, if Peter dismissed any of them.

He smiled as sincerely as he could, although he felt like he had just been given a mud-pie or a squiggly drawing by a child, but inside the bag he caught sight of something. It was a piece of paper with a doodled 'Spider-Man' on the front. He opened it with his free hand, where he spotted some words scrawled beautifully in crayon, and he felt his heart melt at the words written largely across the paper: 'thank you for being a friend'.

"This was pretty nice of you," said Peter.

"Yeah? I just hope he likes it! Say, what does he like?"

"He has an interest in engineering and biology," continued Peter. "Er, he – he likes to skateboard, too. I know he's _really_ serious about his family; he likes hanging out, but he doesn't drink and hates alcohol, and he – he – he sounds like a total geek, doesn't he?"

"Nah, he sounds . . . I don't know . . . too good for me. I know I've grabbed some babes in my time, but they weren't ever like Spider-Man." Wade looked down and kicked the floor. "Spider-Man is a hero and saves people and tries super hard, while his other self sounds really smart and moral and nice, but then there's me and . . . maybe we aren't soul mates."

Peter smiled weakly, as he crouched down and wrapped the presents carefully with the excess material of the bag, before he placed them inside his backpack. He looked up from where he knelt; Wade wore a pout that marred his otherwise nice features, as well as shoved his hands deep into pockets and looked away to one side. No, they weren't soul mates, but that wasn't because Peter was 'too good' for Wade. It was just because they were so different; they had nothing in common, plus Wade had such a shady past, but he wasn't completely evil.

' _Yo, that your girlfriend, Parker? Fag.'_

Peter jumped to his feet. He looked over Wade's shoulder to see Flash in his usual jacket, with a couple of rather beefed up guys on either side, and he felt a spark of nervousness at the situation. The blond teenager was notorious for starting trouble, which had been harder and harder to stop since Uncle Ben's death. He refused to abuse his gifts or use them in public, no matter how tempting it may have been, but the insult wasn't against him this time, plus he was _used_ to hearing slurs and insults from people. Wade was different, however.

There wasn't really much room for retaliation, so he did the best thing that he could; he slung his bag over his should and linked arms with Wade. The older man froze and became stiff as a board, as if unsure how to react, while Peter made a point of leaning his head onto his shoulder with the warmest smile he could muster. Flash curled his lip in something like disgust, as he stepped back and looked them both up and down.

"Yeah, we're dating," said Peter. "So what?"

"So?" Flash rolled his eyes. "You can't do better than _that_?"

The reaction was instant. Wade made to go for Flash, with an expression of absolute anger that bordered on hatred, but the tears behind his eyes and flush to his cheeks spoke of something much deeper. It took every ounce of Peter's strength to hold him back, complete with a hand against his breast to try and placate him. Flash let out a loud laugh; it was enough to make Peter reach his breaking point, as he spun around and faced him head on.

"You think I care what you think?"

"You should, Parker. Wait until word gets out that –"

"That what? That I have a boyfriend that's got both looks and heart?" Peter rolled his eyes. "He works out and has more muscle on one ball than you do on your entire body, which makes me think all your bull is just _you_ overcompensating. He cares about his soul mate; he worships him, wants to get to know him, and listens to him. He's far from perfect, and – yeah – I could do a _lot_ better, but I could do a _lot_ worse, too. I could be dating you."

"You want to say that again? I _dare_ you to say that –"

"Back off, Flash. Don't push me."

Peter stepped forward, until he was inches from Flash's face. It took a few seconds, during which time he felt his heart race and his hands clench into fists, but – eventually – Flash backed off and nodded at his pals to get moving. They headed along the hallway, as if there hadn't been a confrontation in the first place, and Peter grabbed Wade by the wrist and dragged him in the opposite direction, until they were outside and by the school gates.

There were a few students still about, as a few students had clubs and extra classes, which wasn't to mention those on various teams and in detention, but – overall – they had the courtyard pretty much to themselves. Peter kicked angrily at the school gate; the metal indented with the force, enough that he cursed himself and prayed no one saw him, and he turned to see whether Wade was any calmer. The older man was grinning ear to ear, with his eyes half-lidded like a lovesick pup, and Peter ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Er, why are you smiling?"

"No one's ever been that proud to have me as a boyfriend before," chirped Wade. "Well, Vanessa, but even that got complicated and she played me in the end. Hey, I know it was all for show and all, and – ah – I ain't the kind of guy you'd want to take home anyway, but it's nice knowing that everyone doesn't think I'm just some crusty old sock. Kind of made me feel like I was wanted for a minute. Thanks, Petey! I like you!"

"I – you – I mean – it -!" Peter blushed and looked away. "I – I don't mean this as a come on, but you do have some good points . . . sort of. You might be Deadpool; believe me, I know all about that, but you're also a human. Lots of bad guys have pulled themselves around, which includes a lot of the heroes out there, and you can do it, too. I believe in you."

"Hey, don't get all soppy on me, man! If you start crying, I'll start crying." Wade may have teased, but the tears behind the wink said otherwise. "Say, if Spider-Man hates the books and stuff, tell him I can get a skateboard or something like yours instead, okay?"

"You – you can tell him yourself," said Peter meekly.

He remembered quickly that – to Deadpool – 'Spider-Man' and 'Peter Parker' were still two different people, and that in some respects they may as well have been separate people, too. It didn't matter if Wade complimented him, because it was Spider-Man that he was in love with, and there was no way he would fall for the school bookworm and science geek, one that was offered a job by Stark and sometimes interned for Banner. He also had to remind himself that he didn't _want_ Wade to fall for him anyway, even as the question slipped out:

"You – ah – want to get coffee?"

"Only as a totally non-romantic thing," said Deadpool. "I've never been the kind of dude to cheat! Well, one time I did, but we were in space and I thought we'd broken up, but it turns out we hadn't and the princess made her all super jealous, only -! Where were we? Coffee! Yeah, sure! I know a great Mexican restaurant where we can eat, too!"

"T-that's cool, I have an early curfew today, though, so we might need to make it quick, but I – I wouldn't mind some Mexican. I can show you a good hotdog stand on the way back home, too, and I'll get your message and presents to Spider-Man, promise."

"Thanks, man! You're cooler than I thought! You're nice for the press!"

"I'm not the press. I just take photos to make a living."

Peter looked to the cars on the street. No one realised that two masked vigilantes were planning on getting fast food together, not even one of those involved, and Peter felt a strange sense of solitude that came from that. He almost wanted to tell Wade the truth, just so that he wouldn't be alone with such a secret, but he couldn't trust the other man with that kind of information, and it wasn't as if Wade would like Spider-Man knowing the truth, anyway.

"Come on, you lead," he said warmly.

"Thanks, Petey Pie!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

' _Oh, you're here for Peter?_ '

Peter yawned from atop the staircase. He scratched his neck sleepily, as he glanced down the stairs to see his aunt standing in the doorway. It must have been pretty early, even by her standards, as she was dressed in her dressing gown and some old slippers, the ones bought by Peter for her one Christmas, and the cup of coffee in her hand was still steaming. He felt almost naked in just his boxers and vest, but he ignored it as he made his way to the bathroom. He let his feet drag on the floor, as he slouched over half-asleep.

' _Sure am, pretty lady! Is he up?'_

' _I'm not too sure,'_ replied May. _'It's not a school day, so it's possible that our Peter is having one of his lie-ins. If you just give me a few moments, I'll go upstairs and see if he's awake and decent. I'm sure he won't mind if –'_

' _Nah, don't bother yourself. I have an easier way.'_

' _I'm sorry? I don't think I -'_

"Petey! Wake up!"

The noise definitely woke him up. He paused with his hand on the bathroom handle, ready to step inside, before he finally recognised the voice for who it was: Wade. There was a moment of absolute guilt; he couldn't believe that had just carried on his usual routine, at least without stopping to think that it was Wade at the door, and he should have been the one down there to greet him instead of his aunt. He automatically ran to the top of the stairs.

He looked down this time to see Wade poking his head inside, while his aunt – beginning to panic, not knowing who he was – tried to keep him at bay. Wade actually looked rather handsome, especially considering that it was still dark outside, and had dressed in a clean red shirt with a black jacket, although it was a mystery where he could buy a suit jacket from that had a black hood attached. The scars were pretty minimal today, too, which made Peter smile as he hated seeing Wade in pain, and he wore a brilliant smile.

"I – I'm coming," called Peter.

Peter ran downstairs as fast as he could, pausing at the last step to rub sleep from his eyes, as he rounded the door and gave his aunt the most apologetic look he could muster. He barely could get out a single syllable, when Wade dove at him and pulled him into a rather suffocating hug. It was a little embarrassing. His one arm was trapped at an odd angle over his head, caught mid-gesture as he made to scratch his head, while his other arm hung low and was trapped between both their waists. Wade didn't seem to notice, as he swung Peter around and gave a loud cheer. He eventually plopped him down with a grin.

"O-okay, now I feel dizzy," said Peter.

"Sorry, Petey!" Wade slapped him on the back. "I'm just so happy to see you! I got your text saying that you had big news for me, so I came right on over! Is it Spidey's wrist? Did the clock stop? Maybe he proposed! Oh, we can have a big wedding in the park or –"

"I – I sent you that text half-an-hour ago! I was half-asleep in bed; I didn't expect you to show up until . . . well . . . _much_ later in the day. I'm not even _dressed_ yet and -! Oh God, I'm not even dressed." Peter caught Wade staring and blushed. "I – I – I will throw you out don't think I won't! Stop leering like that! Look, I do have big news, but I just didn't expect you to be at my door before I even had a chance to put my phone back down."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said May uncertainly. "Peter, is this a friend of yours? If so, I could probably put on some extra coffee while you go get ready. I wasn't really expecting anyone this early, so you'll have to excuse the fact that neither of us are ready, but I'm sure I can make an exception just this once, Mr . . .?"

"Oh! Er, this is Wade, Aunt May! You remember? I told you that we met a few months ago, back at school, only I invited Wade over when I woke up and – er – he must have misunderstood, so . . . we'll just be in my room. No need for coffee!"

"This is Wade?" May sighed. "You've been spending a lot of time together."

"I don't think so? We didn't hang out yesterday."

The look May wore was hard to ignore. He could tell that he had crossed a line, as lately he had been spending an awful lot of time with Wade, and – truth be told – the only reason why they _hadn't_ hung out yesterday was because Peter slept over the night before. It was nice to have a best friend again, especially when Harry and MJ spent all their time with their respective 'soul mates', and even though it was only a matter of time until Wade was lost to whomever his soul mate was . . . Peter made a point to cherish every moment.

"Peter, you didn't tell me that your friend was so much older," said May firmly. "I was already concerned when you were spending every minute of the day together, but I didn't say anything as your grades were still so high, but I really must object to –"

"It's – it's not like that, Aunt May! See, my clock's still ticking!"

"That doesn't stop you being taken advantage of, Peter."

He blushed, as May closed the front door after Wade. The older man bounced inside, although he lingered in the doorway, while May nursed her coffee with a rather serious expression. It was understandable that she was concerned; he still had nightmares about his 'friendship' with Skip, but he had also grown so much since then and wouldn't have allowed anything untoward to happen, least of all without telling someone about it.

Wade pushed his hands into the jacket pockets, which stretched the material into an odd shape, before he looked nervously at the floor in an attempt to hide his face. Peter reached out to put a hand on his shoulder for reassurance; the material felt soft and rather nice, although he had to swallow hard at the feel of hard muscles beneath his hand. It was sometimes easy to forget that Wade worked out to insane amounts, as well as that he could probably put superheroes like Captain America to shame for strength, and Peter felt his mouth run dry.

"You don't have to worry, Miss May," said Wade.

"Oh, I'm sure you're a lovely young man, Wade, but you must realise –"

"Yeah, I know, trust me! I have a daughter, but I think I'd flip out if she were hanging around a guy like me, especially if he were older. You don't got to worry. I would _never_ take advantage of a person like that, especially someone that's been a better friend to me than I probably deserve. There was a time where I actually smashed up all my mirrors, hated what I saw too much, but Petey -? He makes me think maybe I have a shot at being a good guy."

Peter squeezed Wade's shoulder with a smile, as he let his hand fall onto Wade's. He gently pulled his friend's hand from his pocket, before he took callused fingers into his own, and gave a light squeeze. The reaction from Wade overwhelmed him; he gave such a beautiful smile that it was impossible to describe, and he squeezed back in such a way that Peter felt that maybe – just maybe – he had done something good. He turned his head to look to May, who was now wearing a blush to match her nephew.

"I'm also eighteen now, Aunt May," added Peter. "Wade already has a soul mate, anyway, but they drove away before they could get in touch . . . that or his soul mate is the friend that was with him at the time, but his clock didn't stop, you know? I – I wouldn't mind if there _was_ something more between us, but it just isn't like that, so . . . yeah. I have something important to talk to him about, so we'll be going upstairs now, if that's okay?"

"Okay, but keep the door open," she said. "I don't want any loud music playing, as I want to be able to check in on you. No sitting on the same bed. No staying so undressed. I also want him back downstairs in half-an-hour, so I can get to know this young man properly. If he's an important part of your life, he's an important part of mine. Understand?"

"Totally!" Peter sagged in relief. "Okay, come on Wade."

"Nice meeting you, Miss May," called Wade.

Peter dragged Wade by the hand upstairs. He nearly slammed his door behind him out of instinct, but fought the urge and simply pushed it nearly closed instead, as he pointed Wade over to the bed and gave him permission to sit down. True to form, Wade appeared oblivious to most social cues, and kicked off his new shoes to place feet – rather dirty and with holey socks – onto the sheets, as he crawled over and lay down. He propped his head up on both hands, as he watched Peter with a wide grin. Peter simply gave a sigh.

They remained in silence for a long moment, as Peter dug around a pile of clothes on the floor, until he found an old sweatshirt and pair of jeans, which smelled _just_ fresh enough to get away with a second wearing. Wade made a point of watching him the whole time. It shouldn't have embarrassed Peter, but he cared about what Wade thought about him, so that he felt a shred of concern that maybe he wasn't up to Wade's standards, only -?

Only it didn't matter, did it?

Peter paused momentarily to remind himself that it was Spider-Man that Wade loved, not to mention that his clock had already stopped, so there was no way that they could be soul mates, and yet he couldn't help but feel sad about that. It was hard to believe that their friendship could evolve in just a few months, but there they were and they trusted each other entirely. Wade knew about his troubled past, just as he knew so much about Wade's, and it was hard to think that Wade's soul mate was still out there somewhere.

"Hey, what's up, baby boy?" Wade asked. "You look sad."

Wade tossed a robot figurine into the air, which he caught loosely. It didn't bother Peter too much, until he looked around his room and realised exactly what it said about him, and suddenly the Einstein poster and various figurines no longer felt comforting. Wade was always into such cool things and had such a sense of humour, so there was no real way of knowing just what he would think of such 'geeky' pursuits. Peter frowned again.

"Er, I just – I just realised my room . . . it's –"

"Super cool?" Wade tossed him the figurine. "Yeah, I know! It must be nice, Petey Pie. You got all these hobbies and stuff, which you're all passionate about, and your aunt seems nice and cares about you. I never had anything like that growing up. I'm jealous of you!"

"You – you don't mind? I worried you might think it – you know – stupid."

"Nah, if your room was stupid, you'd be stupid, too."

The older man pulled himself up against the headrest, as he sat upright and patted the spot next to him on the bed. Peter remembered what his aunt said, so he shook his head and pulled up a chair instead, which – thankfully – Wade respected and said nothing about it, even if he did look a little disappointed about not getting to sit next to him. There was a strong smell of coffee from downstairs, along with the noise of something frying, and soon Peter felt his mouth begin to water, even as he leaned to his side and lay his head on Wade's lap.

Technically, he was still on the chair, so he doubted his aunt could complain. Wade began to play with his hair, which relaxed him and caused him to close his eyes, and soon he really regretted that this might all soon come to an end. He knew how much Wade idolised Spider-Man, enough that he even boasted a Spider-Man plush toy in his apartment, and the idea that his hero could actually be just a high-school student on the verge of graduating -?

"I need to tell you something," said Peter.

"Shoot!" Wade tugged a lock of his hair. "I'm all ears."

"Okay, just promise not to hate me? Well, I – I mean – that is – I just -!" Peter swallowed hard and began to play with the line of Wade's trousers. "I – I can't say it. Just – just check my phone, will you? It should be under my pillow. You want the photo gallery."

Wade gave a slight moan of frustration, as he reached under the pillow and pulled out the phone, before he began scrolling through to the gallery. There was silence for a long moment; Peter scrunched his eyes shut, while Wade muttered questions about what he was supposed to be looking for, until eventually there was total silence. Peter felt his heart race in his chest, as his hands clenched upon Wade's thigh, and – suddenly – the phone was dropped inches in front of him. He dared to open his eyes and saw it: the picture of Spider-Man sans mask.

"Is it true?" Wade asked. "You're really him?"

"I – I can explain, I swear! I just -!"

Peter found himself silenced with a kiss. It was chaste at first, awkward from how Wade had to bend in two and raised Peter's head with a free hand, and it was definitely the most uncomfortable kiss he could ever imagine, but it was also . . . perfect. He opened his mouth instinctively, as he tasted something spicy and warm, while Wade actually laughed into his mouth something about 'morning breath'. Peter gasped when he felt tongue.

It was clumsy, enough that teeth clashed and a tongue was bit on one occasion, but Peter enjoyed it and soon found himself pulled up to a sitting position on Wade's lap. Wade kept his hands rooted firmly on Peter's hips, while Peter wrapped his arms around his neck, and soon they were effectively 'making out', as MJ would call it. It only felt like a brief minute at most, but it must have been more as May was calling up for them to come downstairs for breakfast, and Peter – now heavily aroused – had to force himself to will away an erection.

"You don't hate me?" Peter asked.

"Please! I figured it out, like, a week after meeting you," Wade said with a wink. "I've just been waiting for you to tell me! See, you trust me. I _told_ you we were soul mates; it's just your clocks slow or something, maybe you need a new battery. Want me to charge you up?"

Peter let out a loud laugh, as he climbed off Wade and headed to the door. He noticed that Wade followed him with a slouch, both hands in pockets, and jacket done up to hide most sins, so that he was evidently as effected by the kiss as Peter felt, and he felt a heavy sense of pride and love at that realisation. Wade had _feelings_ for him. It made him blush red, as he gave a nervous cough and opened the door wide, before he said:

"Come on, let's not keep May waiting."

"Yeah, I'm coming, honey."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

' _Hey, Petey, that's the alarm.'_

Peter let out a low groan. It was still dark out, enough that he could make out a few streetlights and nothing more, and even with the curtains wrenched open there was absolutely nothing that he could see in the darkness. The only real light came from beneath the door and the glow of the television screen, which still played the box-set of 'Golden Girls' on subtitles, so as not to awaken his aunt. Peter pulled the sheets up over his head, but they were quickly pulled back down again, as a muscular pair of arms encircled him.

He smiled, as Wade nuzzled against the side of his neck. They weren't strictly allowed to share a bed, per se, but somehow – despite Wade beginning on the floor – they always ended up side-by-side, which May never seemed to notice. Wade was naked beneath the sheets; Peter could feel that much, just as he could smell the heavy morning breath and feel the scabbed skin against him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel disgusted, because this was _Wade_ and he loved him. Everything about him, down to the open sores and cold feet, was what made Wade who he was and what Peter cherished about him.

"It's my birthday, can't we lie in?" Peter asked.

Wade let out a loud laugh, while he rolled Peter onto his back and sat astride him. It was hard not to blush, especially when it brought back _very_ explicit memories of the night before, and he could still see a little something on his boyfriend's thigh. Peter tried to hold back a moan of embarrassment as he turned his head to look away, but Wade took a hold of his chin and leaned down to place a chaste kiss to his lips. It would have been a rather good way to start the day, but he could hear his aunt knocking on the bedroom door.

"No can do, baby boy," said Wade.

' _Are you boys okay for me to come in?'_

"Er, one minute, Miss May!"

Wade jumped up with incredible speed, as he hunted around for his boxers and slid down onto the airbed on the floor in front of the bed, and threw Ben's old blanket over him. The college prospectuses scattered from their pile next to him, while Peter's new textbooks were also nudged over into a pile of discarded clothing, and he couldn't help but feel a stab of terror to realise that – in a few weeks – he would be starting college. It was hard to believe that they had been dating half-a-year, harder still to realise how quick it had flown past.

' _Okay, I'm opening the door now.'_

The laugh from Wade was almost adorable, except for the fact Peter was half-sure that his aunt knew – or at least suspected – they were in some sort of physical relationship, and he wasn't sure whether to be thankful or annoyed by her insistence on knocking lately. There was something deeply embarrassing about his aunt knowing about that part of his life, but even more so when Wade didn't seem to feel any shame about it. Peter pulled the sheets up.

May entered with a tray filled with several plates; they smelled delicious, where he could see pancakes piled up on one side and wheat-cakes on the other, and a bowl of fruit salad and two glasses of fresh orange juice. It took her a while to navigate the mess in his room, before she placed it over his lap and helped him to sit upright. There was also a card tucked under one plate, too, which he carefully placed to one side so that it wouldn't get stained or torn, as he would pin it to his wall later with the other cards. May tiptoed back over to the door; before she poked her head back in and said loudly:

"Remember that your friends will be here soon," she said.

"I know, Aunt May, but I just need some time to wake up, it's still early."

"Well, you wouldn't be so sleepy, if you went to sleep on time," chirped May. "I know you two wouldn't do anything that you shouldn't be doing, but I do remember one of you screaming at a 'nightmare' and the other later getting some water. I was young once, too, Peter. I just want you to know that I respect you both, as you are adults and are in love, but if I walk in here and catch you in an inappropriate position -?"

"Don't worry, Miss May!" Wade said with a smirk. "You won't catch us doing anything like that, I swear! I appreciate you letting me stay over as much as I do, so I ain't going to disrespect you like that by making you uncomfortable. That being said; shower free?"

"Yes, but I expect you both to take turns," she added.

"As if we'd do anything else!"

May gave Wade an appraising look, as she closed the door behind her. It took Wade only a second to climb onto Peter's legs, where he stretched his own out on either side of Peter's lap, and looked him directly in the eyes, while he helped himself to the breakfast. There was something rather beautiful about him, which Peter hadn't ever noticed before; he had an innocence about his face, oblivious to the fact that May wouldn't approve of them even _sitting_ together on the bed, and the tray between them rattled loudly.

He was surprisingly attractive, in an admittedly unconventional sense, with strong and symmetrical features and bright eyes, and so expressive that he was always able to smile when Peter was only able to stutter and swallow. Even with the sleep crusting in the corner of his eye, and the dab of maple syrup that currently dripped from his lips, he still looked perfect to Peter, because this was _his_ Wade and no one else's. No one else could see him this way.

It was then he felt a strong stab of pain.

There was a burning sensation on his wrist, enough to make him pull it up to his chest and hold it tightly against himself, and he wondered just what he could have spilt to hurt him so much. He caught a look from Wade. It was one of absolute concern, but mixed with something that he couldn't quite decipher, and it only reminded him further of how much he loved Wade, because he was always so concerned and protective over him, in a way that Peter never thought he could deserve or have. He shrugged at Wade with a smile.

"I must have spilt some sauce," said Peter.

"No way! Your wrist hurt, right? Let me see! I want to see!"

"It's – it's nothing, Wade. I'll be fine, honestly."

He rolled his eyes as Wade grabbed at his hand, but – as he turned his wrist over – he felt something strange churn in his stomach. The clock on his hand had stopped. It wasn't clear at first, but he realised that Wade was counting slowly to sixty, and on the final count nothing had moved or changed. If it wasn't clear enough, the red dot in the middle indicated that his soul mate had been found. It stood there like a beacon of what he already knew. Peter pulled his hand slowly back and stroked the clock lightly.

"I – I guess you're my soul mate," he whispered.

"Told you! What's that they say? Even a clock strikes twice a day?"

"No, it's 'even a broken clock is right twice a day'." Peter smiled. "Funny, really. Yours and mine are both technically 'broken', right? Both broken, both right. Do you think that the clocks only stop when you _realise_ that you've met your soul mate? It's explain a lot, plus –"

Wade silenced him with a kiss. He leaned over the tray to wrap a hand around the back of Peter's neck, as he pulled him close and expressed how he felt silently, and – a few minutes later – the tray was placed haphazardly on the bedside table. Wade climbed onto his lap, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, and nuzzled into him with a hum of contentment, so that Peter could do nothing except laugh lovingly and run his hands over his boyfriend's bare back. Wade made a strange noise and began to kiss his neck.

"I don't care why it stopped," said Wade. "I just care it stopped for me."

"Yeah, I looked at your crusty eye gloop and knew that it had to be love," teased Peter. "No one else could eat pancakes and look at that. Seriously, I bet you could make sandcastles out of the amount you have just there! I – I can't believe I love you."

Peter laughed and placed his hands on either side of Wade's face, as he pulled him back and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. They sat together in silence for a long while, as Peter rested his forehead on Wade's, and they simply listened to each other breathing, until Wade took a hold of his wrist and began to trace circles around his clock. It was then that Peter realised the simple truth: Wade was everything he ever needed.

"I love you," said Peter.


End file.
